Catch
by Speechless
Summary: Faramir is seen by a Gondorian girl as she hangs up clothes to dry. A short vignette.


**Catch**  


  
  
When I saw him, I was hanging the wash to dry on the lines. My Lord Faramir was walking down the streets of the City with the future Steward of Gondor, Lord Boromir. He was not so tall as his brother, understandably, for their ages differed by five years--yet it was he who caught my eye as I leaned out the narrow frame of the window to pin the wet shifts and frocks on the lines and pull the dry ones in. His black hair gleamed in the morning half-sunlight. He threw his head back and laughed at something Boromir had said, and my heart jumped at the sight of his face, so joyful in laughter but so serious in thought. The sunrise played shadow games on his face, showing in stark contrast the line of his jaw, the profile of his nose, his eyes--the color of which I could not discern from above but knew to be such a clear, pure shade of grey, for I had memorized his face...   
  
I steadied myself on the window sill, praying to the Valar I did not fall out and die, and have him know me only as the girl who made a mess of blood on the street as he took his morning walk. For I had loved him as long as I could remember; I had dreamed of his low, quiet voice and imagined his touch, which I was sure would be softer than downfeathers. He had only spoken a few words to me in my lifetime, but I promised myself there would be more later, for I was a mere six and ten. But lurking somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, I knew that there would be none but perhaps the occasional polite nod of his head and a smile as I passed, for he was courteous to all his people. But I would not allow myself to believe that. I cursed my birth as an innkeeper's scrawny daughter with crooked teeth and not a fair maiden out of a noble line of blood.  
  
I remembered the first time I saw him, when I was a little girl clinging to my mother's skirts as she bought eggs and vegetables from the vendors on the corner--he was but a small boy then also. He was grinning broadly and riding on the back of his brother's horse, side by side with his father's, to greet the people of Minas Tirith. In happier times, they did this often, simply for enjoyment or to meet their subjects. I saw him and smiled, for I knew him to be Faramir, the son of our Lord Denethor. Nervously, I called to him, for many people were crying out the names of the lords and wishing them well. He turned his head swiftly at the sound of his name and smiled down at me, missing a few teeth, and waved to my mother and me. I did not know it then, but I loved him, and always would.   
  
And how I did love him! I grew to live for his mere presence in the City. The thought of him, up so high at the Citadel, four circles higher than my own, was enough to guide me effortlessly through the menial tasks of the day. As I scrubbed the tables and replaced the spent candlesticks with new ones, as I poured ale for the countless taverngoers in the wee hours of the morning, my mind could drift away to dreams of him. And when the dreams became unbearable, and even the most drunken of all the men had staggered onto the darkened streets, I would finally lie down in my bed and sleep: a deep, crushing sleep, void of thoughts, til next the sun rose and life would begin again.  
  
I reeled in the lines, the rays of light caressing my arms as I leaned further out to grab a stray pin.   
  
Now as the daylight slowly warmed the City and life began to stir within the houses and taverns, I was tempted to call his name again like a child and jump down into his arms. Surely he would catch me, and his arms would be strong yet gentle, and as he set me down he would bow to me, and....no, perhaps he would not set me down, but keep holding me. And I would put my arms about him, and I would feel the beating of his heart through his tunic and perhaps then he would bend his neck--his neck which I now saw, such a wonderful neck!--and lay his lips on mine.... I gripped the window frame tightly, willing myself not to jump.   
  
And then it those lurking thoughts overcame me as the realization that he did not know I existed defeated me wholly. Surely he could not remember me from any of those chance sightings, those quiet good morning, my ladys and I wish you wells. But how could he not remember, when I had sat up here all my life loving him? How could he not hear the swift thumps of my heart each time he passed, the color rising in my cheeks? I rested my back against the window frame and clung to the line with my left hand. He was just in front of our inn now, soon to be off down the cobblestones to who knew where, still talking jovially with his brother. I gazed out at the pair of them and felt tears scorching the corners of my eyes and rolling off my cheeks down, down, down to the street.   
  
Maybe he would catch one and think of me. 


End file.
